Liberatore Suffoletta Biography

There came into the world a son one day in L’Aquila, Abruzzi. It was summer, the new hovels resembling sugarbread hives were empty. As in fairy tales
the sky was the colour of hunger. Empty. Pigsties with no pigs, in the middle of gardens with no vegetables, of fields without earth, alongside dry banks. Tilled by the moon, the fields. The weeds had grown through mouths of skeletons. The Ionian wind
beat the blackened cafone faces as in prophetic dreams:
and the famine coloured moon tilled fields that no summer had ever loved. It was in the time of the son that much love might be born, but it was not
to be. The son had eyes of new grass, fearless eyes,
that saw all that was: nothing of agriculture,
of land reform, of trade union struggles, of National Aid Programs, yet-he had those eyes. Each dark peasant
everyone, had abandoned his new hovel like a pigsty with no pigs, in clearings the color of hunger
at the foot of rotund hills within view of the prophetic Ionian Wind.